


Capture Every Moment

by eucatastrophe__x



Series: On-Screen Brothers to Off-Screen Lovers [2]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, New Zealand, Oral Sex, Photography, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sorry Not Sorry, Wellington - Freeform, Yep I went there, eek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-06 13:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eucatastrophe__x/pseuds/eucatastrophe__x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Aidan had discovered very quickly that a relationship with Dean should come with a warning label.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Caution: must be willing to be photographed at all times.</i>
</p><p>Five times Aidan didn’t want to have his picture taken – and one time he insisted on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1.

“Aid. Wake _up_.”

“Fuck off,” he groaned out of habit, his free arm flailing for something to hit in irritation as he buried his face in the pillow, “ten more minutes.”

“No more minutes. Up. Now.”

There was an insistent hand on his shoulder – a _cold_ hand, he realised with dismay – but at least when he hit out again, he connected with something.

“Oof – god, Aid, that’s no way to thank me for last night.”

That, at least, made Aidan smile lazily (and more than a little triumphantly) as he rolled over to be greeted with the equally pleased expression plastering Dean’s face. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, love.”

And it was a good morning – as was every other morning that he woke up with Dean by his side.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to admit to himself that what he felt for Dean was more than brotherly affection – a lot more. Sarah had noticed before him, for Christ’s sake, and she’d never even met Dean. She didn’t specifically mention him by name when she was breaking up with Aidan, but she said she knew that he didn’t love her anymore, even if he hadn’t realised himself that his attentions were focused elsewhere.

He spent the next three weeks in a fog of anxiety, desperately wanting to confess to Dean but terrified of ruining their existing relationship.

In the end, he just couldn’t bear it anymore. Dean – bless him – had been worried about how listless he’d been, so had taken him out for fish and chips atop Mt Vic. He’d asked what was wrong in such a caring, concerned way that eventually it had just popped out.

And when he kissed Dean (finally, his brain rejoiced, you idiot), Dean kissed him back.

Ever since, things had been _exquisite._

They’d moved cautiously to begin with – but even so, hot exploratory kisses while fully dressed, Dean draping himself across Aidan and letting him curl his legs around his waist, only satisfied them for so long. The next proper evening they had off, Aidan took Dean on a date that – entirely unsurprisingly – ended in his bed.

It was three whole weeks after their first kiss that Martin caught them between takes, weapons stacked neatly in a pile next to them as Dean reclined between Aidan’s legs, back against his chest.

That in itself was nothing unusual, but they were also quite enthusiastically attached at the lips.

And once Martin had sniffed out a piece of gossip – well.

Everyone at Stone St knew in a matter of hours.

But Aidan couldn’t bring himself to mind in the slightest – he was deliriously happy and he didn’t care who knew it.

Even though, right at that moment, he would have been even more happy if he was allowed to doze for just a little bit longer…

“Hey,” Dean snapped his fingers, “don’t close your eyes on me again, sleepyhead.”

“Just thinking how lovely you are,” Aidan tried, wondering if he could lure Dean out of his clothes and back to bed for another couple of hours of sleep.

But Dean was having none of it.

“Come on, get dressed – quick.”

There was an unusual anxiousness in his tone so – unwillingly, it must be said – Aidan obliged.

“Here, put this on,” Dean told him, throwing yesterday’s jeans and his wrinkled favourite shirt at him (wrinkled because, if he recalled correctly, he had been in so much of a hurry to get it off when they got home last night that it had ended up in a messy pile with the rest of their clothes as Dean pushed him back onto the bed with that predatory grin on his face).

Aidan stumbled out the door, tugging his shirt over his head (he didn’t have the dexterity for buttons at this hour of the morning) in the process and squinting at the morning that greeted him. The lot was bathed in a strange golden light, the sun having only just risen over Miramar, and suddenly he realised what all this was about.

Dean was holding his camera.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he whined, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration. “This is what you got me out of bed for?”

Dean smiled at him hopefully – if a little uncertainly. “It’s just – this light is really good, and –”

“Deano… it’s our day off.” Days off meant sleeping in, dozing with his arms and legs wrapped around Dean, and slow, lazy fucking. As far as he was concerned, it was still the middle of the night, and now all his plans for morning lethargy had been ruined.

“Five minutes – ten tops. The light won’t last long. Please, Aid.”

“You’re an asshole,” Aidan grumbled, half meaning it, “where do you want me?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He had discovered very quickly that a relationship with Dean should come with a warning label.

Caution: must be willing to be photographed at all times.

Unfortunately, broadly speaking, Aidan was not all that keen on having his picture taken. He wasn’t good at being photogenic and his smile always seemed to turn automatically into a grimace whenever a camera was around, no matter how hard he tried to look genuine (and even when he was actually happy). Unsurprisingly, though, Dean disagreed, and was _constantly_ haranguing him – please, Aid, just a few shots, you look really sexy today, Aid, you know I love taking your picture, it won’t take long, Aid, please.

Aidan did not appreciate it.

But he tolerated it, because it was Dean, after all, so how could he say no?

Dean gave him a triumphant smile. “Just – sit on the step there, okay? Undo another button, move your legs – yeah, like that, bend the left one a bit more –”

Aidan adjusted his clothes and limbs accordingly. “Right, and how do you want my face?”

“Actually, that pout you’re sporting right now will do nicely, thanks.”

“I’m not pouting,” he protested. Dean just laughed, which had the unfortunate result of making his cross expression even more pronounced.

“Yep, just like that. Now, look that way, and – stay.”

Aidan stayed.

Sure enough, the strange light only lingered for five minutes – mind you, Aidan knew that Dean could take a lot of photographs in five minutes when he wasn’t being a prissy perfectionist.

“A hundred and eighty-four,” he announced, “well, surely at least one of them will be decent.”

“Gee, thanks,” Aidan snarked, rolling his eyes. _Artists._

Dean just shook his head in amusement as he popped the lens cap back on, before fixing his speculative gaze on Aidan once more. “Now, are you going to let me take you back to bed?”

Aidan was irritated with Dean. He really was. Dean had disturbed his sleep and upset his plans for the morning – however semi-formed those plans were – and – and –

“Go on, then.”

 

2.

The makeup chair had never felt quite so inviting.

Aidan wasn’t sure if he was ever going to move from it again.

Peter had warned him – all of them – that it would be a long day, and he’d delivered spectacularly. It was probably the most exhausting they’d had since they’d finished location shooting (with the exception of the days they’d spent on the barrel sequence) and maybe it would have been alright if all the dwarves were all in the same boat. At least then they would have been able to complain together.

But the rest of the Company had finished three hours ago, Peter holding Aidan back to do an extra scene with Evie. (Aidan wondered if it was the defeated look in his eyes that had prompted Peter’s decision: he would have looked right at home in his Mirkwood cell.) Neither of them had rehearsed, but that never posed a problem for Peter, who preferred to make things up as they went along. And the fact that all the other dwarves – actually, most of the rest of the cast – were drinking and relaxing so close by was not helping his mood.

All he’d wanted to do was get out of his costume and into some comfortable clothes, maybe sweet talk Dean into ordering them a pizza, watch a movie curled up on the couch with his fluffy blanket, and pass out.

He’d made it most of the way through the first of those steps – he looked like himself again, rather than Kili, which was always a good start. But the makeup girl had left fifteen minutes ago, and Aidan was still in the chair, practically paralysed with exhaustion and completely unable to move by himself.

Thankfully, Dean knew – as he always did – exactly where to find him.

“Had a feeling you’d still be here,” he grinned cheerfully, “getting to your trailer out of the question?”

“Unless you’re offering to carry me,” Aidan mumbled into the bench. This seat didn’t recline properly, so he’d had to content himself with tipping forward and resting his forehead on the cold plastic instead. It wasn’t the most comfortable – but it was markedly better than the alternative.

“Somehow I’m not sure that would go well for either of us, Aid,” he commented, rubbing slow circles between Aidan’s shoulder blades and coaxing him upright with his free hand. “There you are.”

Aidan toppled sideways slowly until the side of his head met the warmth of Dean’s chest, and frowned at him in the mirror – but the frown was smoothed away as Dean started running his fingers through his hair. (He’d laughed, the first time, when Aidan had practically started purring, and had learned since then that he would always appreciate the action at the end of a long day.)

“S’really good,” Aidan mumbled, face and limbs slack and relaxed, and wondered whether he could just go to sleep right there… until he heard the obnoxious shutter sound of the camera on Dean’s phone.

“Deano,” he whined, contemplating batting away the hand wielding the phone but unable to find the energy, “don’t.”

Dean just hummed under his breath, continuing to snap pictures of both of them in the mirror while pressing harder on Aidan’s scalp with his fingertips – and that was all it took for him to cave with a whimper.

Even so, he refused to open his eyes properly or engage with the camera in any way, still lolling against Dean and pushing up into his hand insistently every time he stopped the massage, until finally, he won.

“Killjoy,” Dean chided teasingly, shaking his head with a grin as the phone disappeared back into his pocket.

“Dickface,” Aidan responded in the same tone, not meaning it in the slightest, “honestly. You’re lucky you’re so damn cute.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

Those words – those incredibly forthcoming words, which Dean had shared only a few days after the mortifying soul-bearing exercise on Mt Vic – never failed to make him go all gooey.

“Anyway,” Dean said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, “what I actually came in to say was that we’re all going to the Green Parrot for a feed in half an hour or so – you’ve got time to shower before then, if you want to come.” He paused. “You should come.”

“I’m exhausted, Deano. I can barely move.”

“But it’s an institution,” he protested, “it’ll be fun – it always is – and we haven’t been for ages.”

That much was true. Everyone knew that the Lord of the Rings cast had spent a lot of time there (and even that was an understatement), and the dwarves had been positively giddy on their first outing – all save for Jed, who had been there so many times during Rings that it barely registered with him.

Of course, that also meant he had developed an aptitude for some of the more interesting items on the menu.

“I’m not sure how many weird organs I can stomach eating tonight, to be honest.”

“You know as well as I do that they don’t just do livers and kidneys, Aidan,” Dean snickered, “come on, a nice steak and all the white bread and butter you can eat. We can leave early if you’re really not up to it, but… please?”

He sighed. “You know I can never say no to that smile.”

It was true, damn it – and said smile grew at both the admission and the concession that he would come out.

“Let’s get going, then – if you’re nice, I’ll even scrub your back for you,” Dean teased, spinning the chair around, taking both Aidan’s hands and tugging him out of his seat.

“Is that some Kiwi euphemism that I’m not aware of yet?”

“It could be if you play your cards right,” he smirked back.

It was.

One shower (and one standard-issue earth-shattering orgasm, Dean pushing him into the shower stall as soon as the water was hot and wasting no time dropping to his knees) later, Aidan was feeling decidedly perkier.

Of course, several rounds of beers and a good steak helped, as did watching Jed swallow down his lamb’s fry without flinching, much to everyone’s disgust (especially Adam, who looked absolutely appalled) but raucous cheers.

And when Dean insisted on taking a few shots of the group (before roping in the poor waitress to take more still so he could be in them too) – and even if the pictures turned out to include a lot of candids involving Aidan and his meal – Aidan couldn’t really bring himself to mind.

 

3.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

It was not how Aidan had wanted the weekend to end.

It had been so perfect: a weekend, a real weekend (not an odd Wednesday and Thursday when they weren’t needed for filming), and Dean had leapt at the chance to take him up to Auckland, show him the sights, and have him Meet the Parents – now that they were more than just colleagues and brothers.

The weather had been surprisingly good, too. Aidan had become so used to the horizontal rain and blustery winds that they’d been subjected to in Wellington (not that he ever missed a chance to complain about them) that the crisp – if a little grey – days in Auckland had been a pleasant surprise.

But, clearly, all good things had to come to an end.

It was fine when they arrived at the airport, and they wrote off their flight’s delay to – well, to something other than the apocalyptic storm that had apparently engulfed Wellington (and much of the lower North Island) in their absence.

The pilot – the optimistic jackass – had figured that he’d give the trip a go anyway, and had warned them light-heartedly before takeoff that there would be a bit of turbulence.

_A bit._

“Deep breaths,” Dean encouraged, “here, you can have my last lolly.”

If he had been able to concentrate on anything other than the rising vomit, Aidan would have been touched. Dean’s excitement when the air hostess had come around with her little wicker bowl had been adorable, if a little inexplicable – “I really like the red ones,” he’d elaborated with a bashful smile. Even so, he’d only been able to grab three, and the first two had disappeared in a matter of minutes – before the turbulence really started.

“This is a really small fucking plane,” Aidan whined, acutely aware of the cold sweat beading along his hairline and how clammy his hands felt and _how fucking far away from Wellington they were._

“Man, you’d want to see the ones some of the regional airlines use,” Dean snickered, “ten or so seats and no room to stand up… Maybe we should do that next time we have a few days off.”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

His stomach was rolling unpleasantly as the plane bumped and lurched, one hand curled around the paper bag from the seat pocket in front of him and the other squeezing Dean’s so hard he thought it would probably leave bruises. Dean, though, was taking it like a champ, making soothing noises and doing his best to distract him.

“But you’ve had a good time, yeah?”

“The best,” he murmured, watching Dean as he smiled, those ludicrous dimples appearing, and he would have kissed him if he didn’t think there was such a high risk of vomiting in his mouth.

“And if you’re up to it, when we get back, I’ll show you an even better time,” Dean added with a suggestive leery grin. He was definitely up for that – he’d felt beyond strange being intimate with Dean in any way while they were staying in his parents’ house, even ducking out to buy pyjamas for both of them because the prospect of sleeping naked, as they usually did, made him flush with embarrassment.

“You might not find me quite so attractive after I’ve been sick all over you,” he warned, only half joking.

“Oh, come on. You know it’s going to take more than that to turn me off, Aid.”

“This is your captain speaking,” the voice came over the speaker, and Aidan closed his eyes, breathing deeply, hoping against hope.

“So, ah… No one else is landing at Wellington, but we’ll give it a go and see what happens.”

He nearly shot out of his seat in disbelief.

“Is he taking the piss?” he hissed at Dean, who shook his head wordlessly, still trying to listen.

“Conditions are pretty bad, but we should be able to have a quick go since everyone else has been diverted. If we can’t make it, we’ll turn around and land at Palmerston North – there will be buses there to get you back to Wellington, and it’s only about a two and a half hour trip. So… sit tight, keep your seatbelts on, and let’s give this a crack.”

Aidan concluded that New Zealand pilots were all insane and definitely not fit to be left in charge of commercial aircraft.

“Dean, I am never getting on a fucking plane in this fucking country ever again.”

“Come on,” Dean grinned, “at least you can’t deny it’s been a memorable weekend – and I promise to take you somewhere a bit more sedate next time.”

Next time.

Now _that_ Aidan could get on board with.

The turbulence worsened the closer they got to Wellington. Aidan couldn’t bring himself to look out the window hopefully and wait for the city to come into sight, instead closing his eyes again, focusing on breathing deeply and the gentle circles Dean was rubbing onto the back of his hand with the pad of his thumb.

“Almost there, Aid,” he crooned, “you’re doing so well. I can see the Hutt – that means we aren’t far away.”

“Christ,” Aidan groaned, his gut squeezing and clenching in displeasure, “Dean, I’m going to –”

“Nononono, Aid, deep breaths, you can do it,” he encouraged. Aidan exhaled loudly through his mouth, panting like he was in labour, sure that Dean would tease him for this later but unable to care.

And eventually (it felt like an eternity, but it was probably less than ten minutes), the plane lurched onto the runway, skidding and bouncing as it slowed.

It was over.

When the pilot killed the engine completely, the silence was stunned – but was broken a few seconds later by someone a few seats behind Aidan and Dean who started clapping.

And then – unbelievably – the rest of the passengers joined in.

Aidan shook his head.

Only in this goddamn country.

Honestly.

“Welcome to Wellington, folks – sorry about the bumpy ride, but we made it. Your bags will be available on the ground floor in a few minutes. Thank you for flying with Air New Zealand, and… we hope to see you again soon?”

Aidan managed what was probably a very wan smile at the way that the pilot’s last statement had turned into a question – like anyone on the plane would want to fly again for a very long time.

“Thank Christ,” Dean sighed, “I was so worried we were going to end up in Palmy.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta say – two and a half hours on a bus with a hundred other people is not my idea of fun, especially not right now.”

“Actually, it was more, you know, being in Palmy at all – so be grateful I’ve saved you from that experience,” Dean explained with a smirk as he reached for his bag (much to Aidan’s amusement, he preferred to keep it under the seat in front of him because he couldn’t reach the overhead compartments).

“What are you – no. Oh, no. Dean, not now.”

“Yes now,” Dean told him, holding up his phone. “I’ve documented the whole weekend, and technically it’s still the weekend.”

“I’m going to kick your arse for this, O’Gorman.”

“Smile,” he suggested, “you kind of look like shit.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look at the camera, and smile.”

 

4.

In retrospect, it had been a terrible idea – and it was all Aidan’s fault.

They’d finished shooting earlier than expected and while everyone else took the opportunity to head down to Courtenay Place for a few drinks, he and Dean had feigned tiredness (much to the amused and knowing looks of their cast mates). And sure enough –

“Your trailer or mine?” Dean had asked with a suggestive wink – and it wasn’t long after that that they were both in the shower, Aidan easing him open and then fucking him, slow and rhythmic, against the wall.

“Told you the waterproof lube would be worth it,” Dean gasped, fingers scrabbling for something to brace himself on, the air around them thick with heat and steam and the slick slap of skin on skin.

“If you’re thinking about the practicalities of the lube, I’m obviously not doing a good enough job,” Aidan snarked, with a smirk on his face that Dean could hear but not see, deliberately upping his pace and force – and getting exactly what he wanted in return.

“You – fucking Christ, Aid, there, right there, don’t stop, oh, I love you, _Aiiiiid…_ ”

Aidan loved Dean’s afterglow face: the flush would linger on his cheekbones and his eyes would stay dreamy and unfocused for longer than expected. And god, was he ever a cuddler – he would burrow right into Aidan and wrap his limbs around him and sigh with contentedness and Aidan would wonder why the hell he had taken so long to speak up about his feelings.

“Hungry?” Dean asked, the word muffled by Aidan’s shoulder, and he shrugged gently. “N’really.”

“Movie?”

“Mm.”

“Go and get your blanket, then.”

He was back in less than a minute, only to find that Dean was already in bed, wearing a t-shirt, boxers, socks and not much else, his own fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he scrolled through the contenders on his laptop.

“Hmm… I feel like something trashy. I know – how about this?”

And Aidan had said yes.

And here he was.

He’d made it through the first hundred and twenty nine minutes of The Bucket List – but that goddamn funeral scene. It got him every single time – and he’d seen it so many times and knew the lines so well that it was practically a Pavlovian response.

The problem was that Dean had his head on his chest and try as he might to regulate his breathing, sooner or later, a choked little sob was going to pop out.

And then it did.

Dean shifted curiously, and Aidan wondered if he was going to be able to pass it off as a cough or sneeze or a hybrid of the two – but once Dean caught a glimpse of his red, watery eyes, it was game over.

“Aid, shit – are you – what –” he stuttered, clearly completely taken aback by Aidan’s reaction (and infuriatingly dry-eyed himself).

“It’s just – it’s a really fucking sad movie, okay?”

Dean blinked, eyes wide in disbelief, and a dimpled grin slowly spread over his face.

“Oh, this is too fucking cute.”

But he didn’t stop the movie, and Aidan had to endure the rest of the scene and the one that followed, biting down on his bottom lip until he could taste blood, keeping his eyes on the ceiling and willing himself to stop being so pathetic.

It didn’t work.

And Dean was fucking _loving_ it – so much so that he wanted to document the moment.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“Don’t,” he protested, trying to cover his face with his hands, but Dean just peeled them away, managing a couple of shots on his phone of an embarrassed, pouting, damp-eyed Aidan.

“Too cute,” Dean repeated with a snicker, reviewing his handiwork before putting his phone away. He knew Aidan wouldn’t delete the pictures, no matter how much he resented their existence.

“Tell the others and you’re dead.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean promised, his gaze not wavering as Aidan squinted at him suspiciously, “honestly.”

He wasn’t buying it.

“Oh – I get it. You’re going to save it up so you can use it against me later.”

Dean raised one eyebrow in response.

“You’ll just have to make sure you’re extra nice to me – forever.”

“Starting now?” Aidan suggested, shuffling around in a tangle of blankets and limbs until Dean was under him, fingers linked around the back of his neck and legs bracketing his waist happily. He let Aidan kiss him, long and slow, and shivered as his lips and tongue travelled along his jaw and down his neck to that spot that never failed to turn Dean to mush.

(Suddenly, he’d forgotten all about the movie.)

“Yep, that sounds good to me.”

 

5.

Aidan was having an excellent morning.

It was summer, and he was lying on a deserted beach with Dean. The warmth of the sand was seeping through his towel and he was the bone-deep kind of relaxed that he hadn’t been for years and everything was just perfect.

But slowly, he became aware of movement next to him – no, on top of him. Someone was twitching back the towel covering his body and he didn’t appreciate it at all and since when had the towel been on him rather than under him, anyway?

Oh.

It wasn’t the towel.

It was the sheet.

Because he was not on a sunny beach but in his trailer in Wellington.

Dean was there, it was true, but he wasn’t lying sedately next to Aidan but pattering around, trying to be silent and failing miserably, and the way that he kept trying to adjust the blankets was rapidly tugging Aidan out of his dream and back to reality.

“Mmph,” he groaned through mostly-closed lips, his mouth and eyes feeling tacky with sleep, and the movements stopped entirely.

“You – whoops. You’re awake. Um, good morning?”

Dean looked incredibly guilty, kneeling next to Aidan wearing underwear and nothing else.

“Why aren’t you still in bed?”

“I, ah, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been up for a while, and I was just – I wasn’t expecting you to wake up.”

Aidan rubbed his eyes, still trying to focus properly – on Dean’s sheepish face as much as what he’d been doing. “Why were you fiddling with the sheet?”

“I – you – I was worried you were getting cold.”

“Deano, it’s really warm in here. You’re practically naked, for starters.”

“So I am,” he grinned, “wanna take advantage of that?”

He was skirting the issue. It wasn’t cold, so there was no reason for him to be concerned about Aidan staying warm. And when he considered the guilty expression as well… suddenly it all clicked into place.

“You big creep,” he laughed, and Dean frowned back at him. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting.”

“No, I – it’s not that, it’s – you were taking pictures of me while I slept, weren’t you?”

The long silence told him everything he needed to know. 

“…Maybe.”

Dean was redder than he’d ever seen him, which made him suspect that this wasn’t the first time this had happened – that Dean had been sneaking around and documenting him in his sleep for a while.

It had been a while since he had bothered Aidan about posing for him, and Aidan had been quietly appreciating the new state of affairs. He’d wondered whether it had just been the initial excitement of the new relationship that had prompted all the photo taking, and whether that gloss had started to wear off.

Clearly, the answer was a resounding no.

“Hand it over,” he commanded, and Dean sheepishly produced the camera. Aidan flicked through the photos silently, but – 

Apparently unconscious Aidan was more photogenic than awake Aidan. 

He didn’t often want to look at the pictures that Dean took of him, and when he did look he usually wished he hadn’t, but these – these he actually didn’t mind. (He also appreciated that the effort that had been required on his part was so minimal: lie there and be unconscious and let Dean do all the work.)

“You could have just asked, you know.”

“No, I couldn’t have.”

He frowned at Dean’s automatic response. “Why not?”

“Because every time I _do_ ask, you look at me like I’ve asked you to chew off your own arm – yes! That look! Exactly like that,” he laughed, and Aidan couldn’t help but smile at the description.

“I just – I don’t understand why you’re so preoccupied with it all the time,” he explained, looking pleadingly up at Dean. “I mean, you’re a photographer – an artist. I get that. But – me? And when I look like shit? What about that is so appealing that you want a permanent record of it? Just – talk me through it. I want it to make sense to me.”

Dean sighed, fiddling with the strap of his camera for a few moments before setting it aside carefully – and then it all came out, in one big nervous rush of words.

“Because when we’re talking about that trip we took or that time that you got sick or that amazing meal we had in five, ten, twenty years’ time, I want to be able to pull up the pictures and reminisce and remember all the little details that we would lose if we didn’t have photos.”

Aidan’s jaw dropped.

The reasoning made sense – and yet, at the same time, it didn’t.

“Twenty years,” he breathed, eyes round and astonished. “You – you think we’re going to – you think you’ll still want me around in twenty years’ time?”

They had been so careful not to talk about the future – to savour what they had for now and enjoy every moment wrapped up in each other that they could. Aidan had wondered, when he woke up in the early hours of the morning with his nose pressed against Dean’s neck and his arm around his waist, where they would end up once filming finished – but the thought was too big and intimidating to ever put into words.

Plus, the fact that they’d intentionally ignored the matter meant that Aidan had never been quite sure how Dean felt.

But now, apparently, he knew.

And it was better than he could ever have hoped.

Dean’s face was scarlet with what was clearly mortification and the fear that he had got everything terribly, terribly wrong.

“I – yes. I do. Why – do you not – is this not – oof.”

Aidan grabbed him by his hips and pulled until they were chest to chest and had both had the air crushed out of their lungs.

“You could have just told me, you know,” he said, running one hand through Dean’s hair and unable to keep the wide smile at bay, something warm and exhilarating unfurling in his chest and making him want to laugh with happiness because this – Christ, this was everything he’d never known he needed, not until he saw Dean’s smile.

“I figured I’d had a good run already – you know, finding out that you thought we could be something – and I didn’t want to jinx it or scare you away by talking about the future.” He was still looking hesitant, and slightly disbelieving that Aidan hadn’t recoiled from all his plans, made excuses and fled.

“But?” Aidan prompted, and Dean took another deep breath, obviously realising that there was no point holding anything back, not now.

“But I really fucking love you, and this – I’m in this for the long haul, if you are.”

“Oh, believe me, I am,” Aidan told him, hoping that his expression was conveying everything he felt, “but – really? That’s why you take so many pictures?”

“It – yeah, it is. I want to look at photos of you sleeping and think – this is the Aidan I fell in love with. Look how fucking perfect he is, and look at this life we’ve built together.”

“You are such a sap,” Aidan marvelled, shaking his head in disbelief and awe and wondering how this morning had turned into what was probably one of the most memorable of his life.

Twenty years. Twenty fucking years. A lifetime – with Dean.

“You love it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

A pause. Aidan tried to clear his head of some of his more sentimental thoughts and, simultaneously, remembered that Dean wasn’t wearing a hell of a lot and was warm and lying on top of him and – well, it had been at least eight hours since Aidan had last had him squirming and begging, and as far as he was concerned, that was eight hours too long. So –

“Want me to show you how much?”

Dean just smirked.

“Thought you’d never ask.”


	2. Chapter 2

+1.

When the door opened, Aidan’s heart just about jumped out of his chest.

“I am so ready for today to be over,” Dean mumbled to himself as he walked into his trailer, clearly so preoccupied with getting inside and getting his shoes and jacket off that it took a few seconds for him to realise that he wasn’t alone.

A few very long seconds.

“Huh – good evening,” he said, padding towards the bed in his socks, “I’ve gotta say – this is a nice surprise.”

Aidan was sprawled out on the bed, heart thudding so hard that Dean could probably see it if he looked close enough. This was a gamble: it could pay off, or Dean could shoot him down in flames. But he’d been mulling it over for a while (in fact, the idea had barely left his head since its arrival a week or so earlier) and he was damned if he was going to spend much longer wondering – what if?

“I like the look, by the way – suits you,” Dean smirked, “ you should wear it more often.”

“Which part?” Aidan croaked, his mouth dry from nerves – as well as the arousal that he’d been battling for several hours, but never quite so much as the last twenty minutes as he lay here in wait, trying desperately not to touch himself.

He was only wearing two things, after all: a pair of those tight black boxer briefs that Dean loved so much, and a painfully hard erection.

“Oh, the whole thing, definitely,” Dean grinned, pulling his t-shirt over his head, “though I wouldn’t object if the boxers came off. In fact – do you mind if I –”

He reached forward as if to pull them off, but Aidan slapped his hand away. “Nuh-uh,” he told Dean, shaking his head to emphasise the point, “that’s not how this is going to work.”

“Okay,” Dean said slowly, clearly confused, “so…”

“You – stand there. No touching. Spectating only. And –” he swallowed hard (fuck it, it was now or never), “you’re going to use that.”

Dean’s eyes flickered back and forth in disbelief, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether Aidan was being serious. And Aidan just waited patiently (even if he was feeling anything but patient inside) until –

Dean’s hands shook as he picked up the camera.

And that action validated everything.

Aidan knew Dean loved taking his picture. However, he did not love having his picture taken. So he’d considered whether there was a type of photography that he wouldn’t object to on principle – and, being a man (and one who hadn’t gotten laid the night before because they were too exhausted to do anything but fall onto the bed and pass out, still fully clothed), he’d hit on this.

Initially, he’d dismissed it as ridiculous – but it kept niggling at him, and the thought turned him on, okay? It wasn’t something he’d done with a partner before but this was Dean and everything was different and he had a sneaking, hopeful feeling that the idea wasn’t going to be rejected outright.

That feeling had been bang on the money.

“Ready?” Aidan asked, watching him fumble with the settings for a few seconds (as he always did before taking a single picture: Aidan had asked, once, what he was doing, only to have him lapse into a monologue of photography jargon that he couldn’t understand in the slightest) before raising his eyes again.

“Uh,” he managed, “yeah – yes.”

“Thank Christ,” Aidan breathed, letting his palm ghost over his cock through his boxers and shuddering at the tentative touch. It had been an intense test of his willpower: since that morning, when he’d decided that today was the day he was going to float this idea, he’d had a perpetual hard-on. And as tempting as it might have been to get Dean to take care of it while everyone else was having lunch, he’d managed to hold out.

The look on Dean’s face told him it was going to be worth it.

“You better get cracking,” he told Dean, who was standing there motionless, eyes bulging out of his skull, “I’m not going to last long.”

“I – right. Sorry.”

The sound of the shutter was drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears as he tried to keep his movements slow but deliberate, alternating his gaze between the camera, the ceiling, and the excited bulge that was forming in the front of Dean’s trousers. 

But slow and deliberate was only going to get him so far, and Dean certainly didn’t object as he shucked his boxers down, going by the choked little noise that escaped from the back of his throat in response.

And the photographing continued – and shit, there was something so arousing about Dean standing there, watching him jerk himself off through the lens of a camera. He probably would have seemed impassive to anyone else, but Aidan recognised the rigidity of his spine and the way that his fingers kept flexing around the body of the camera as telltale signs that he was trying not to lose control.

That sent another surge of want through him, his cock throbbing in his hand – Christ, he hadn’t been kidding, this was going to be over embarrassingly quickly – and then – 

“Spread your legs,” Dean instructed, “and reach up with your other hand – yeah, like that.”

 _This_ was what he had been waiting for: Dean’s confident photographer tone, directing every angle and limb and expression.

“Eyes on the camera, and tilt your hand – yep.” He paused, swallowing hard, clearly deliberating whether he should vocalise his next thought. “And, um – can you just stay like that for a few seconds?”

“I can try,” Aidan gasped, fingers trembling as they stilled, “but I think I might die if it’s any longer than literally a few seconds.”

“Just a few more,” he murmured, padding around to try out different angles, “god, you’re sexy as hell.”

“Deano, please,” he whined, cock twitching with unimpressed anticipation, hips flexing off the bed as he sought contact that was in no way forthcoming. Time ticked by agonisingly slowly, and a small part of his mind (very small, considering that he was almost entirely preoccupied with his cock and his hand and Dean’s slow, deliberate movements as he took photograph after photograph) wondered if he was actually going to pass out.

And then, thank Christ –

“You could – no, fuck it, I’ll leave that for next time,” Dean muttered to himself, “I’ll put you out of your misery. Keep going, babe.”

_Next time._

“Nuhh,” Aidan managed, back arching and the top of his head pressing into the pillows as he finally got to continue, fist tightening around himself and god, that felt _incredible._

Unsurprisingly, it was less than a minute before he felt that familiar tightening, but there was no way he was going to be able to stop now, not even if Dean wanted him to be still again, and the camera was still clicking away and damn, his imaginings of this hadn’t come close to how much of a fucking turn on that camera was.

“Fuck, Dean, I’m – can I –”

“Yeah, Aid, that’s it,” he murmured, “come for me.”

His hand was moving involuntarily, increasing pressure and speed and somehow managing to do everything exactly how he wanted it without him consciously trying –

And it was right there, and –

Oh, _god_ – 

“Dean,” he sobbed, his whole body clenching and eyes squeezing shut as he came, hot and sticky over his abdomen, his hand only stopping its movements when he was entirely spent. It was another twenty seconds or so before he opened his eyes again, slowly regaining control of his heartbeat and breathing and reaching for the tissues that they kept by the bed for exactly this kind of situation.

Dean had lowered the camera but was still staring at him, spellbound.

“Fucking hell, Aid,” he breathed, “that was… fuck.”

Aidan grinned smugly. Yes, it had been a good call. He was immensely pleased with himself (not to mention dozy and sated from one of the best orgasms he’d ever given himself). But –

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Dean froze.

“Don’t put it away. I’m not done with you yet.”

Dean swallowed audibly, eyes glued to Aidan’s as he sat up, the worst of the mess taken care of, pushing Dean a couple of steps backwards and dropping from the bed onto his knees.

Dean looked like he was going to pass out.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whimpered, knowing exactly what was coming, his free hand reaching to cradle the back of Aidan’s head.

“Same drill, Deano,” Aidan whispered, looking up at him as he slowly dragged down his zipper, fingers curling around the belt loops of his jeans and tugging them down his thighs, “get snapping.”

A couple of weeks into the relationship – after a few too many drinks down Courtenay Place one night – Dean had confessed that he had a thing for eye contact while he was getting head. He hadn’t gone into a whole lot more detail – he’d been distracted by the row of extravagantly-coloured shots that were being assembled on the bar for what was clearly an ill-advised drinking game – but he’d said enough. He remembered very little of that night the next morning, but Aidan (who had had decidedly less to drink) could recall it much more clearly. He’d filed the admission away for future reference and the reaction that he’d got from Dean the next time he sucked him off, deliberately keeping his eyes wide throughout the whole process, had made him want to get Dean drunk again as soon as possible so he could extract all the rest of his kinks as well.

And so this time, he didn’t close his eyes as he wrapped one hand around the base of Dean’s cock, teasing the head with his tongue until he felt the first burst of precome, but looked up at the camera through his eyelashes.

And sure enough, he got that same desperate little choking gasp in response that he’d been gifted with the first time (and every time since then that he had pulled this particular weapon from his arsenal).

“Fuck, Aid, you’re gorgeous,” Dean breathed, the harsh sound of the camera nearly drowning out the words. Aidan hummed in response and satisfaction as he started his slow descent, eyes fluttering closed at the familiar weight of Dean’s cock in his mouth, only opening them again when he felt the tip of Dean’s index finger curiously trailing over his bulging cheek – and all the while, he continued to photograph him. 

Aidan wondered, idly – once he had taken Dean’s entire length down his throat, sucking hard and hollowing his cheeks like his life depended on it and relishing the needy whimpers he was getting in response – what would happen to these pictures once they were done. They obviously couldn’t stay on the camera – and yet it was possible that if he copied them onto the computer, the whole thing would spontaneously ignite. Much like Dean was about to.

This was the best fucking idea he’d ever had in his life.

He knew what Dean liked – had had an enjoyable time figuring it out – and did his best to pull out all the tricks that really got him going. It was a satisfyingly short time before he heard the gratifying thunk of Dean dropping the camera, letting it fall against his chest while his hands sought out something to anchor him. His fingers dug into Aidan’s scalp and he took over the pace, hips jerking unconsciously as he fucked into Aidan’s mouth.

Aidan knew this kind of frenzied rhythm was reserved for when he was just about on the edge, and sure enough –

“Aid, I’m – Aid – oh, _fuck.”_

Dean’s hands spasmed in his hair as he came with a gasping groan, warm saltiness sliding down the back of Aidan’s throat. He let Aidan swallow around his length and slowly pull off, caressing every inch of him with his tongue on the way. He lingered on the head, mapping every ridge with slow, swirling movements until Dean’s breathing had returned to normal (well, as close to normal as it was going to get).

His knees creaked as he got up, sitting back on the bed and eyeing Dean curiously to gauge his reaction.

He looked – perhaps unsurprisingly, Aidan thought smugly – like he’d just had the best head of his life and wasn’t quite sure how to process it. It was another ten long seconds before he shook his head slightly, like he was coming out of a stupor, and did his trousers back up (though he did appear to be having some trouble focusing on the finer movements, and was still moving very slowly and dazedly).

Yes, Aidan would chalk this one up as a victory.

And Dean had said that there could be a next time.

“So,” Dean said carefully, drawing the word out, “next time I want to take your picture… this is how I should sell it to you?”

“Well – I mean, it wouldn’t hurt,” he smirked, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean’s and licking his lips obnoxiously, gratified to see Dean’s gaze lower and zero in on his mouth. And then he was putting the camera away and climbing onto Aidan’s lap, largely ignoring the fact that he was still naked, wrapping his legs around Aidan’s waist and kissing him breathless before whispering his response.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Better late than never, right?
> 
> This part was sort of the initial idea that spawned this sequel so my apologies for the fact that it's breaking the fluffiness mould a little bit. It's also basically the first smut I've posted so *hides*
> 
> Two more things:
> 
> I've left this as M because I'm not exactly sure where the boundaries are on this site and everything I've seen has been sort of "ehh, it's up to you." Someone with more knowledge of these matters: should the rating be bumped up?
> 
> Also, as a newbie: is it bad form to not respond to comments?
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, so apparently I can't stop writing these two. You'll see that this is now a series... Basically halfway through this one I realised there was also going to be a third instalment which is partially mapped out already. So, yay! (More fluff!)
> 
> As an aside - the pilot's comment about giving it ago when no one else is landing in Wellington is 100% something that happened to someone I know, so there you go - flying to/from Wellington is nothing if not an adventure...
> 
> Second half should be up within the week (she says optimistically...)
> 
> Comments/kudos are loved :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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